


Another chance to get it write

by vrepitsals



Series: They call Lance the Taylor [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Getting Together, Happy Ending, Keith thought Lance's name was Taylor, Love Letters, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-08-28 03:09:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16715473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vrepitsals/pseuds/vrepitsals
Summary: Keith sends love letters to a boy named Taylor. He doesn't understand why they keep getting rejected. Until he realizes that the boy's name is Lance.





	1. Unlucky in love letters

**Author's Note:**

> Back at it again with another taylor-based fic. [All the fics in this series are independent of each other, I just like to group them together for book keeping]
> 
> This was supposed to be a short and sweet one shot, but it became a bit out of hand so I'm splitting it into two parts :) The second part will be up next week.
> 
> (The rating is for swearing in part 2)

Keith writes the first note with a pounding heart and sweaty palms.

He doesn't express himself well verbally. The words fall out of his brain rather than out of his mouth. He'd say that it gets easier the more he knows someone, but he's never really known anyone well enough for it to make a difference.

Except for his Dad. His Dad and Shiro. But really, they're just the exceptions that prove the rule.

It had been Shiro who'd first suggested writing down his feelings. Of course, Shiro hadn't known that Keith was planning on giving his feelings away.

Shiro doesn't know that Keith really has any feelings about others worth writing about. Any feelings except indifference. Or, rather, what Keith would call indifference, but the dictionary would probably call disconnect, or perhaps loneliness. What the social workers call 'an unhealthy coping mechanism'.

Keith hasn't really had any other feeling about others. Except for his Dad. His Dad and Shiro. The only two exceptions he has.

Had. Before he met Taylor. Before he finally had something to write about.

It takes Keith four drafts to get the note perfect. It's short, less than a page of the paper that makes up his exercise books. He writes on the lined pages in the blue ink of his biro.

Keith pours out his heart onto the same paper that he uses to write lecture notes, uses to doodle in the classes that don't teach him anything he doesn't already know. It's fitting in a warped, backwards way, to write to Taylor in the notebook he uses for everything, given how Taylor has seeped into every aspect of his life.

He folds an envelope out of more notebook paper, from a tutorial he searched on the library computers, and writes Taylor's name in as neat a script as he can manage.

He can only hope it will be enough.

Taylor deserves more, deserves calligraphy and thick glossy paper and jet-black ink, but this is all Keith has. This is all Keith really is, deep down. Scarcity disguised as functionality.

Keith has spent the last week scoping out Taylor's locker and his schedule. He knows that Taylor always neglects to return his books to his locker before lunch, so he leaves lunch early to swap them out before afternoon classes start. Keith slips the note into locker 857, Taylor's locker, once the hall is empty and all the other students are in the cafeteria.

He holds onto it a moment longer than he needs to and lets out a deep breath before he lets it go.

He doesn't lurk around the corner to assess Taylor's reaction. He signed it with his name, and Taylor has never been one to leave Keith in the dark about anything he's feeling.

No, even if Taylor's reaction is negative, Keith will hear all about it before the day is out.

Taylor has never let up the opportunity to gloat when Keith underperforms, nor declare a challenge when Keith gains a higher score in the simulator. Even on the boring days, when there's nothing worth competing over happening, Taylor will still generally seek Keith out, even just to bicker about nothing between classes.

It's part of his daily routine, and if Keith is being honest, he enjoys it. He enjoys that Taylor doesn't avoid him like the other cadets. Taylor soaks up his attention and time, both of which Keith is more than happy to give him. The alternative is sitting alone in his room after all, and Taylor's competitiveness never crosses the line into true antagonism.

Taylor's pure attention feels like friendship, feels like more than that. Feels like something Keith can't get enough of.

That's what confuses Keith more than anything. He doesn't get Taylor's attention that afternoon. Taylor doesn't approach him at all, and when Keith goes to check Taylor's locker once the halls are clear, once all the other cadets are in their rooms or the library, he sees a sliver of notepad paper poking out through the side of the door of locker 857.

Keith pulls it out. He sees his block letters running diagonally over the paper's faint blue lines. He sees the painstaking way he wrote _Taylor_ on the front of the envelope in blue juxtaposed by new writing, in hurried red ink.

_Return to sender_

Keith frowns, and wonders if it's a joke. He's seen Taylor use this locker every day, and no one else has ever opened it where Keith could see. The fact that the letter is poking out of Taylor's locker confirms that he didn't drop it in the wrong one by mistake.

It makes sense if it's supposed to be a joke. Keith doesn't generally understand jokes without an explanation, and Taylor's jokes, while enthusiastically told, are often indecipherable.

Or it could be a test, to see if his feelings are genuine, if he'll persist after a setback. He's not sure why Taylor would do that, but the cadet has done stranger things. Taylor's train of thought can be a rabbit-warren at the best of times, and Keith enjoys trying to trace his path and avoid the dead-ends. Taylor absolutely never grows boring. It's one of Keith's favourite things about him.

He decides the best course of action is to try again and hope that the next response will be more genuine. He checks that the coast is clear, before crossing out the red ink and depositing it back in Taylor's locker.

The next morning Taylor corners him during breakfast, and corals him into a bet about the simulation they're both completing later that day. Taylor doesn't seem any different from normal, so Keith plays along. He agrees to Taylor's terms, and then brings up their physics homework to try and extend the conversation.

"No way, I'm not falling for you trying to pick my brains," Taylor says, leaning over where Keith's sitting with a grin.

"Keep telling yourself that."

"The truth? Don't worry, I will."

When Taylor leaves, he's smiling.

Keith knows that he probably won't see Taylor again today, as the simulator results won't be released until tomorrow. He spends the day waiting for the halls to clear, and finds himself at Taylor's locker once everyone else has gone.

It's a strange feeling, hoping to see nothing, but he doesn't linger on it too much because there's a sliver of letter in the same spot as yesterday, blindingly obvious for anyone looking for it.

The red writing is back with a vengeance, this time taking up almost all the space below where Keith wrote Taylor's name.

_You didn't even make a new envelope? D:_

Keith growls and curls the letter up in his hand. The shocked face tells him all he needs to know, there's definitely some social context that Keith just isn't getting. Probably a joke or a test then. Not that it matters, because Keith isn't giving up.

He stays up late into the night writing a new letter to match the new envelope. He wakes up late and doesn't have time to drop the note into Taylor's locker before classes, so he does it during lunch.

Taylor is waiting for him in the cafeteria and makes a big deal of Keith's imminent defeat when the results are released.

Keith just smiles at him instead of replying and Taylor pauses for a moment, staring at Keith with a thoughtful look.

The instructor for their afternoon class puts on a video about emergency landing procedures that Keith has seen three times already, and he tries to discreetly nap in the back of the class.

As he's walking back to his locker he sees Taylor at his, the number 857 clear as day from the open door.

He sees Taylor pick up the envelope with one hand, and stop as he reads the name on the front. Keith's chest lightens when Taylor smiles at the note, before rolling his eyes. But Taylor doesn't open the note, or even put it in his bag.

Instead, he pulls out a red pen, and scrawls something across the top before gathering up the rest of his books and closing his locker so that the letter is wedged between the door, the same as before.

Keith makes his round to his own locker while he waits for the hall to clear out. Then he pulls the envelope from Taylor's.

_You know they number the lockers here, right? Some more recon might be in order._

Keith sighs, drops the note in his bag, and follows Taylor's advice.

It takes him almost a week of wandering the halls after classes to work out which room is Taylor's, and then another few days to confirm his suspicions. By then his fingers are itching to write a new, fresh letter, and he gives into the urge.

He slips letter number three under Taylor's door while everyone else is at dinner, and grins to himself when there's no sign of white paper there the next morning.

But when he walks past Taylor's locker between classes there's a note waiting for him. Keith isn't surprised to see that it's his third letter, with a scribbled note on the envelope in bright red pen.

_I'm proud of you for trying something new, but no dice this time_

No dice? Taylor's proud of him?

Keith groans at another setback, but tries to channel the disappointment into optimism. Valentine's day is in two weeks, and he's already been working on his letter for a month and a half.

Whatever Taylor's test is, Keith is sure that letter will pass it.

He doesn't have much time for an intermediary letter, but he manages to slip something short and sweet under Taylor's door a few days later. It winds up back in Taylor's locker with some comment about the rooms being numbered too, and Keith doesn't even try to decipher the intent.

Instead, he spends more time lying on the floor of Shiro's office trying to think of rhymes, and then weathering Shiro's teasing when he reads one of the drafts over Keith's shoulder. Shiro does agree to take Keith into town so he can buy a box of chocolates though, which basically guarantees that his gift will be the best out of any given by the first-year cadets, none of whom are old enough to drive.

All the first-year pilots have class with Iverson first period, so Keith drops his gift off on Taylor's desk before breakfast.

The detour means that once he's eaten he's running late to class, so he doesn't get to see Taylor's reaction. However, Keith does notice that he’s sitting in his assigned seat and is staring pointedly at his notebook with red cheeks.

Keith tries not to get his hopes up, but he can't help it.

He spends the day imagining a reply from Taylor in his locker or being approached by him after class. In his mind's eye Taylor already had some big gesture planned and was only pushing back Keith's other letters because he'd been working on it for months and he "wanted it to be perfect, mullet".

In his mind's eye their anniversary is Valentine's day, and they try and outdo each other every year, their gifts becoming more and more extravagant as they both get full time jobs and move in together, until one year Taylor comes home with a ring. In Keith's mind this gift is the start of the rest of their lives.

But Taylor doesn't approach Keith all day, and Keith's locker is empty save for a paper heart from their class rep who gave everyone in their grade a valentine, and an angry note that reads more like a declaration of hate than anything else from some kid named Lance.

Keith can't stop himself from walking past Taylor's locker once classes are done, and his heart falls at paper wedged between its door.

  _Seriously dude, again? Clearly fifth time is not the charm. I hope you know I'm keeping the chocolates ;)_

He doesn't even have the energy to overanalyse the winking face. Instead he shoves the note back through the slits of Taylor's locker, and spends two hours lying face down on the floor of Shiro's office.

"Do you want to talk about it, Keith?"

Keith lets out a negative grunt, because he doesn't even want to talk about talking about it.

It takes Keith two weeks to pick up his heart off the floor, and channel his pride into persistence. Taylor still approaches him with taunts and bets and competitions, but his smile doesn't seem quite as strong as it used to, and Keith shrugs him off when he can.

Keith sits in his room to avoid him, anywhere but his desk. He lies on the floor of Shiro's office when he wants company, and doodles through his classes.

After another week Keith is sick of moping, so he does the only thing he can think of: he writes Taylor a letter. He all but begs for an explanation, he uses all the tips his social workers have given him about using his words to express himself, rather than his fists. He doesn't want to hurt Taylor, he just wants an answer.

Then he takes a deep breath and walks up to Taylor's locker while the boy is standing there between classes. Taylor smirks at Keith as he walks over, but his expression falls when he sees the letter.

"It's you," Taylor says, and he sounds shattered. Like he's the one who's lost a chance at something.

"Yeah?" Keith asks, because he thought that was common knowledge at this point. He places the note on top of the textbook in Taylor's hands, and tries to smile.

"What do you want me to do with this?"

Keith huffs a laugh at what he assumes is another one of Taylor's jokes.

"What do you think?" He asks, still a light chuckle in his voice, but when Taylor looks up from the letter his face is pulled into a scowl.

The bell rings, interrupting whatever Taylor might be about to say, and Keith smiles again before he turns to head to his next class.

Taylor calls out to him from his locker, back across the hall. Keith turns and waves at him. They'll both be late if they don't hurry.

* * *

  


As soon as Keith stops avoiding Taylor, he all but vanishes.

He stops cornering Keith is the cafeteria. He stops grinning at Keith when they pass in the corridors and making elaborate hand gestures that Keith has no way of deciphering. He doesn’t laugh as he explains his jokes to Keith, ever patient even as he grumbles.

Keith never realised how often Taylor approached him until he stopped.

In any other situation Keith might take the initiative, might walk up to Taylor and tease him over breakfast, might make a bet over the next pop-quiz or ask him about his day. But he can't, because he barely even sees Taylor outside of class, and whenever he does one of his friends almost immediately seems to step into Keith's line of sight.

So Keith goes his afternoons and weekends alone. Sometimes he'll bother Shiro for company, but Shiro is busier than ever, training for some big, secret mission that he's not allowed to tell Keith about yet. His grades, which were already more than good enough grow higher as the only thing he has to occupy his time with is studying.

At one-point Iverson points this out as he hands Keith back a test, and Keith sees Taylor clench his own paper in his fist from across the room.

_I could tutor you,_ Keith thinks in Taylor's direction, wishing that there was some way he could make him hear, _or we could just hang out? I’ll give you my victory, if it means you'll be my friend again._

He stares at Taylor sometimes when he gets the chance, mostly during class when his friends can't intervene, but Taylor never looks his way. He doesn't grin at Keith across the room like he sometimes used to, whenever a new opportunity for competitiveness presented itself. He doesn't even glare at Keith, which would still be better than nothing.

_Look at me,_ Keith thinks, watching Taylor for the rest of that class. _Look at me look at me look at me._

Keith tries to approach Taylor after class, but he doesn't get the chance. Taylor bolts as soon as they're dismissed, but when Keith gets to the cafeteria Taylor isn't there.

He doesn't get to say the things he wants to Taylor, so he writes them in a letter.

It's the longest one he's ever composed, but also the least edited. It's not so much romantic sentiment as much as it the outpouring of everything he's been bottling up.

He writes almost a page about how Shiro tripped over a trash can two weeks ago and it was the funniest thing Keith has ever seen. He recounts, in excruciating detail, how the plans he's been drawing up for a hoverbike have changed.

_It should increase its top speed by at least 10km/hr,_ he writes, _but we wouldn't have to go fast if you didn't want to._

He copies out practise questions for the maths test they have coming up, and circles the ones that have tripped him up.

He doesn't sign the letter, but instead ends with three words that spell out the contents of his heart far more than they have any right to.

_I miss you._

He doesn't quite lower himself to begging for Taylor's attention, but he's pretty sure it's implied from what turns out to be almost ten double-sided pages of notebook paper. They barely fit in the envelope he makes, but he manages to squash them in after a few minutes.

He writes Taylor's name with even greater care than normal in an attempt to balance out the slightly ruffled paper.

Taylor might currently be out of Keith's reach, but his locker certainly isn't. Keith slips the note inside before morning classes, although this time he has to push the note through to ensure it fits in.

There's nothing sticking out of Taylor's locker at lunch and Keith isn't sure if this is very good or very bad news. He doesn't have to wonder long though, because before the day is over there's the letter, this time jammed into the slot of Taylor's locker and looking more ruffled than ever.

_This mail processing centre has now closed. Return to sender._

Bad news then.

What is it that Taylor wants from Keith?

He's tried poetry, he's tried stream of consciousness and carefully curated prose. Eventually he's going to run out of forms to try. Would Taylor respond better to pictures, perhaps? Or a comic?

Should he surround his feelings with dialogue boxes and action lines to make them more palpable?

He sits at his desk and contemplates trying, but the thought of showing his art to anyone is daunting and he doesn't know how to start.

Instead he sticks to the forms he knows. He implores Taylor for a sign, an explanation, anything. He gives up not trying to sound desperate. He knows he has already failed in that regard.

Taylor isn't necessarily testing Keith's patience, but Keith is starting to wonder if he's testing his own propensity for masochism. He's never read Taylor as cruel before, if anything Taylor gives his laughs and smiles too easily, gives his care and energy far more willingly and widely than Keith could ever dream of, but Keith is running out of alternate explanations.

If this letter can't set things back to the way things were, Keith doesn't think there's anything else he can do. He's always been called stubborn, but, possibly for the first time, he's found his limit.

Keith places all his remaining hope in blue biro and lined notebook paper and walks up to Taylor's door.

It opens a moment after he knocks, but the face looking down at Keith isn't Taylor's. It's Taylor's roommate, an Engineer whose only reputation seems to be that he's incredibly smart and unshakingly kind.

"Oh hey Keith," he says, smiling sheepishly and moving to block the door, "umm I don't think-"

"No, No, No!" Keith hears Taylor yell from further in the room, cutting off his roommate. Then suddenly Taylor appears from under his roommate's shoulder, wearing pyjamas and a furious demeanour.

"You!" Taylor continues, poking Keith in the chest. "Are not welcome here! Vamoose! Be gone! I don't want to deal with you today!"

"Okay," Keith says, pushing the letter forward, because he has no idea what to say, "I'll go, just… here."

"Nope, that is precisely what we're not doing!" Taylor yells again, and Keith swears that the other doors around them should be opening to complain about the noise. But maybe this is a regular occurrence in a hallway occupied by Taylor.

Taylor pushes both Keith's hand and the letter back and crosses his arms.

It takes all of Keith's strength not to show his growing despair. Instead he forces a smile and offers the letter to Taylor's roommate instead.

"Will you make sure he reads it?" Keith asks, and Taylor lets out a shout and grabs the letter from Keith's hand.

For just a split-second Keith almost begins to hope again. If Taylor is still possessive of the letters, maybe that means he really wants them, deep down?

Maybe he still has a chance?

Or maybe not, because Taylor immediately scrunches up the letter and pelts it at Keith's face.

"Hunk is _not_ your errand boy!" Taylor all but screams, and then the door is slammed in Keith's face, as the letter hits his forehead and falls to the floor at his feet.

Keith remains there in shock for a few moments as he tries to process what happened. But the message is easily deciphered, Taylor made it crystal clear.

He looks down once more, and then turns and walks in the direction of his own room. He leaves the letter to keep his heart company on the floor.

Keith skips dinner, and instead takes several hours to simply lie on his bed and stare at the wall, quashing down the tears because he worries if they start they'll never stop. Then, once all the other lights are out in the hall, he walks to his desk and writes the ninth letter.

It doesn't take long. The letter itself is only three lines, each holding less truth than the last. He doesn't bother signing it and he scrawls Taylor's name on the front of one of the envelopes he made when he was still learning how. It could barely be classified as a quadrilateral, but Keith reasons that's what Taylor deserves.

He goes back to bed and stares at the wall for another hour, forcing his eyes shut.

Then he gets up with a huff, slinks back to his desk, and makes a fresh, clean envelope.

* * *

  


The next day Keith walks up to Taylor's desk right before the start of their first period class. He walks up to the same desk that he'd left his gift on, only a few months ago, back when he was full to the brim with hope.

He doesn't open with anything, he simply pushes the envelope towards Taylor.

The remaining sense Keith has knows that Taylor won't just take it quietly. But if one of them must appear an ass, then, for once, let it not be Keith.

"Seriously mullet?" Taylor hisses, his gaze flickering to where Iverson is currently setting up the projector before narrowing his eyes at Keith. "When is this going to end?"

Keith just stares at Taylor for moment and wills his eyes to appear dead. It's the only way they won't project hurt.

"This is the last one, I promise."

The words themselves are reassuring, so that no one can accuse him of being deliberately vindictive. But their hard edge has the intended effect when Taylor momentarily recoils.

"What do I care?" Taylor says, crossing his arms so that Keith has no choice but to place the note down on his desk.

Keith doesn't answer, instead brushing past to walk to his assigned seat near the back of the room. He counts the steps in his head, so that he doesn't falter, so the moisture in the corner of his eyes can't overtake him any further. He lines his notebook and pens to be at perfect right angles, and tries to ignore the way that Taylor picks up the note between two pencils to drop into his bag, as if he's afraid that touching it will contaminate him somehow.

Keith forces his gaze out the window as he waits for class to start.

So apparently Taylor hates him.

What does Keith care?

* * *

  


Just like that, any hope of their friendship ever reforming is gone. Keith ignores Taylor from then on, not even caring to check if Taylor is ignoring him back.

He still doesn’t talk to any of the other cadets and instead channels any extra energy into his studies. He’s determined to never give Taylor the satisfaction of beating him, since he’s already given him the satisfaction of ripping out his heart.

Keith places first in their grade for the next two years, and pretends the victory doesn’t feel hollow.

He eventually finds out that Shiro is leaving for Kerberos, and tries to be happy for him. Or, he is happy, but he tries to make the happiness drown out the sinking feeling that everyone leaves.

He forces himself to smile at Shiro’s launch, and for a moment he thinks the happiness might be winning. But the sinking feeling turns out to be right, because the mission fails, and Shiro is never coming back.

Keith used to have two exceptions for the rule that he had no one. He used to hope for a third. Now he has none.

What does Keith care?

Apparently he cares enough to punch Iverson when he makes some comment about pilot error. Apparently he cares enough to throw away his future.

But he doesn’t care enough to care about that.

* * *

  


Keith didn't expect to see Taylor again as he's rescuing Shiro. If he's honest, Keith didn't expect to see Taylor again period.

But there he is, with two friends in tow, strutting over like he owns the place, like he was the one who distracted the guards and knocked out the medical staff.

Keith doesn't have time for this, not for a reunion with his old crush, his old classmates. The guards could be back any minute and he needs to make sure that he's clear by then.

"No, no no no no you don't, I'm saving Shiro."

Well, maybe he has a little time to set the record straight.

"Who are you?" Keith asks, slinging Shiro's arm around his shoulder and moving forwards, towards Taylor and friends because he knows that his real feelings, what he's really thinking would only add fuel to the fire, would only give Taylor more power over him.

_I never cared about you_ Keith chants to himself, bottling up his anger and trying to channel it into nonchalance, _the letters never meant anything, your rejection never hurt me. I never think of you. Never. Not when success felt empty because it wasn’t winning without you chasing me. Not when I was kicked out, not in the quiet nights when I was all but alone in the universe._

_I never thought about how I'd never see you again._

Taylor lets out an offended squawk. He moves forward, and grabs Shiro's other shoulder, but he never takes his eyes off Keith.

They feel heavy, heavier than Keith's brother against him, heavier than knowledge of the Garrison's betrayal, but Keith doesn't look away.

"The name's Lance?!"

Keith just manages to clench his jaw before it falls open. His thoughts burn themselves away in the confusion that sweeps over his mind like a haze, leaving him reeling when he really, desperately needs focus.

What did Taylor just call himself?

But apparently whoever he is isn't done. "We were in the same class at the Garrison?"

_I know that_ , Keith wants to snap, but he can't quite manage words yet. It's his saving grace, he realises a moment later, when he remembers that he'd only just pretended that he didn't know who Taylor - or Lance? Apparently - was.

"Oh really," Keith says, his confusion a useful mask, because he still has fuck all idea what's going on, just in a completely different direction than he's pretending, "are you an Engineer?"

He knows he's not, he knows deep down that this 'Lance' is Taylor. But he hangs on to any possible alternate explanation. Perhaps Taylor had an identical twin? Who was a different class to them, hence why Keith never saw him? It's a flimsy premise at best, and Lance is quick to shoot it down.

"No, I'm a pilot. We were like rivals you know: Lance and Keith, neck and neck?" Lance says, leaning across Shiro, which is a stark reminder of where they are.

Keith has to get Shiro out of here, or else all of them are toast. He can deal with whatever the hell this new revelation is later.

"Oh wait I remember you," Keith says abruptly, in an attempt to bring this conversation to a definitive close, "you're a cargo pilot."

It works. Lance huffs and starts walking to the exit, attached as he is to Keith through Shiro.

"Actually, I'm fighter class now, thanks to you washing out," he says.

_Well clearly you're still an asshole_ is what Keith thinks, but he settles for spitting out a very sarcastic "congratulations," which finally gets Lance to shut up.


	2. Secrets and sonnets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Holy fuck," Keith whispers, because there are some levels of shock that Altean swear words just can't reach, "Lance's name is Lance."

Being stuck in  a castle with Lance is a blessing and a curse.

A blessing because Lance lightens the team where otherwise Keith knows they would have grown too heavy. The fate of the entire universe has been dumped unceremoniously on their shoulders, but Lance treats the whole thing more like an extended work holiday than the bleak reality of what they're up against.

A blessing because Lance challenges him to competitions while they're training, and it could almost be just like old times, if the friendly undertones to all their conversations hadn't been ripped away.

A blessing because Lance is Taylor is Lance, and Keith can't enough of either of him.

A curse because Lance is Taylor is Lance, and Keith should really know better by now.

A curse because Keith knows he doesn't, knows that as long as he has to live and work in close proximity to Lance that one day he'll drag Keith back down into feelings, into the pit he's spent the last three years trying to claw his way out of. He thought he'd finally managed it, but what had once felt like solid earth is suddenly brittle and so, so ready to fall away.

Keith trains whenever he has free time partly to escape Lance, but it's more than that.

The universe weighs heavy on him. What is sleep, compared to the billions of lives that could be lost if Keith isn't ready? What is relaxation, when those on the planets under Zarkon's grasp don't know the meaning of freedom?

It's too much for him. He knows that running himself ragged isn't the answer. He knows that sleep deprivation breeds bad decisions, and Keith isn't exactly known for his thoughtfulness on his best days.

What he's doing may, and probably will bite him in the arse just as much or more than unpreparedness could, but Keith doesn't know how to stop.

Lance is a blessing because he seems to hold the answer, whether he knows it or not.

Because Shiro is dealing with too many of his own demons to have the time or headspace to console Keith, and the rest of his team don't know him well enough to realise just how much he's training or what the underlying issue is. But Lance has always held all of Keith's attention effortlessly, and even the worries in his head quieten to listen to what he has to say.

Keith still laps up Lance's attention. He can't help the way his heart skips a beat when Lance tells him to stop training because it's lunch time, dinner time, movie night. Lance prefaces every interaction with "Shiro sent me to come get you," just to make abundantly clear that he doesn't care, but half the time when they get to the kitchen Shiro isn't even there yet. Lance might not be lying, but Keith can't squash down his optimism entirely.

He tries not to think about what it would be like if Lance gave him soft touches and kind words instead of harsh rebukes and needless arguments. If Lance looped his arms across Keith's shoulders and leaned into him as he told him he's human and needs sleep. If Lance held his hand as he lead him to breakfast. If the prize for every one of their competitions was a kiss.

Maybe Lance is a blessing because his reality helps break Keith out of these sorts of day dreams. Maybe he's a curse, because if Keith can't have nice things he'd at least like to be able to think about them in peace.

Lance is good and bad and everything but neutral, and Keith has no idea what to do about him.

Keith has already asked Lance nine times to love him. He doesn't think he could handle a tenth rejection.

He wants to go talk to Shiro about it, wants to lie on the floor of Shiro's bedroom and complain about his crush the way he did for years at the Garrison.

But Shiro had always offered to give Taylor a talking to if Keith wanted, and had always given off the vibe that he would have offered to beat Taylor up if he wasn't a child. Keith can't risk that Shiro wouldn't bring it up with Lance now, wouldn't bring all of that back up to the surface. If Keith tells Shiro, he risks making his problem the team's, risks them all picking sides and one bad relationship turning into many.

Billions of enslaved lives are counting on the unity of Voltron. Keith can't risk it over a crush.

Keith doesn't know how much longer he can mull over this alone without doing something stupid, but he can't tell anyone without risking Voltron.

But Lance, for his part doesn't seem to have any qualms about bringing his grudge to the surface. He never lets up an opportunity to tell Keith that he isn't wanted here. Never misses an opportunity to try and prove Keith a waste of space. Lance hasn't come out yet and suggested they maroon Keith on some abandoned planet just yet, but the way things are going it can't be far off.

Keith knows Lance is feeling snubbed because he pretended to forget him once. If perspective didn't make such an ass of his anger, Keith could almost garner up some small dredge of sympathy.

But Keith has a grudge to bear too. Keith handed Lance his heart on a silver platter back at the Garrison, and Lance picked it up with pencils so he wouldn't have to touch it.

Lance returned Keith's heart to sender. Then, when that didn't work, he threw it at Keith's head, and cursed him for having feelings.

Of the two of them, Keith maintains that he has the bigger reason to be annoyed.

Besides, Lance has forgotten him too. Lance has held Keith's hand, has made him think for just a moment that despite everything that's happened maybe they could have had a fresh start, maybe there's some possibility that Lance could feel the same.

Then the next morning he'd delighted in telling Keith that, no, he's still an ass, and he's going to lord this new sense of power over Keith every chance he gets.

_"Nope, don't remember, didn't happen."_

If that were true he wouldn't have brought up 'bonding moments' eight times since then. If he really gave one iota of a crap about Keith's feelings he wouldn't have flirted with someone else as soon as he woke up,

But it's been well established that Lance doesn't care about Keith's feelings at this point. Unless you count how to hurt them as much as humanely possible.

* * *

 

Keith should be training. He knows he should.

(He definitely shouldn't, they only got back from the Balmera yesterday and he's already done six vargas of training since then. His muscles feel almost too heavy to lift, and they have a diplomatic mission in the morning.)

Keith would be training, but Lance is always the one who comes and gets him when meals start, and Keith doesn't want to see Lance right now. Ideally, he never wants to see Lance again ever, but he'll take what he can get.

They'd worked together on the Balmera. They'd worked _well_ together.

Lance had made one or two digs at Keith's impulsiveness, but they'd lacked any bite. They'd felt more fond than anything. Once the mission was won Lance had even pulled him aside and insisted on a fist bump for their efforts.

It was so much better than what's been going on since the bonding moment. Which means that any moment Lance is going to pull out the rug from under Keith.

He seems to delight in it. In letting Keith get close, letting Keith get his hopes up, then slamming the door shut.

Keith doesn't want to feel another door slam in his face. If he avoids Lance for long enough, maybe Lance will forget about the second part of his bait and switch. Maybe Keith will get his feelings back under control.

On the surface, if Keith is trying to avoid Lance then hanging out with his best friend might seem counter intuitive. But there are only so many places on the ship that Keith can go, and Hunk is too nice to ever kick Keith out. He's also always willing to hold the majority of a pleasant conversation so that Keith doesn't get lost in his thoughts.

Hunk is patient about letting Keith help him out, explaining how his knowledge about Earthen mechanics translate into Altean tech. And helping Hunk with science stuff both quiets the worry of unpreparedness that overwhelm him whenever he tries to relax, while also not wearing down his body any further.

It's the best of both worlds, really, and Keith is slowly learning that perhaps Hunk is the best of everything.

He hasn't even complained once that Keith is working slower than usual, that he's still upgrading the same engine turbine as when he walked in two hours ago. 

Hunk has upgraded three in that time, and as he moves on to the fourth he speaks.

"Do you want to talk about it?"  

"Talk about what?"  

"It's pretty obvious something's bothering you," Hunk smiles over at him and shrugs, "but you don't have to if you don't want to."  

Keith sighs.

Sometimes he thinks he's going slowly insane keeping all this bottled up, but the alternative, the option Hunk is offering, is terrifying in a different way. 

He's not sure if talking about it will make it worse, will make his problem into the team's, but he reasons that Hunk already knows the true reason for their rivalry. Hunk knows about the letters, and he's been on Lance's side for a decent chunk of time before that.

Everything about Hunk tells Keith that he won't judge for his feelings. Or if he does, at least he'll do it quietly.

"It's Lance," he says with all the sheepishness of a grade schooler admitting their dog didn't really eat their homework.

Hunk chuckles.

"I figured it might have been."

Keith stops stock still and his heart shuts down just a little bit. He knows Hunk means nothing by it, knows it's just gentle teasing, knows that it's nothing serious. But Keith can't help thinking that Hunk knows Keith was rejected nine metric times and is laughing at him for it.

Whether Hunk notices Keith's sudden change in demeanor or not, his tone takes a turn for the more serious as he continues.

"Have you tried talking to him about it?"

Keith huffs.

"What's the point? He just takes everything I say and twists my words to make me sound cruel."

Hunk is silent, and Keith realises that he's all but backed him into a corner. Hunk isn't going to say anything against Lance, and Keith gets that. He admires Hunk's loyalty, even if the fact that it's directed at Lance is irritating.

He doesn't expect or wait for an answer.

"I just don't get why he hates me so much," he says instead.

Hunk sighs, and wrings his hands for a moment. His deliberation eventually comes to a head and he looks at Keith with a mix of annoyance and pity.

"Look, Keith, I get that you don't remember Lance from the Garrison…"

"I remember him," Keith all but cuts Hunk off, because this is getting ridiculous. He's never about to go up to Lance and admit it out loud, but  this farce is past the point of laughable. Both of them know that Keith couldn't have forgotten Lance, not in a million years, not if the sun exploded. Certainly not from less than a calendar year of separation. 

"Wait. You do?"

Perhaps both of them don't know, because Hunk seems genuinely surprised. Keith can't pinpoint why he would be. Lance would have told him of all people about Keith's ridiculous pining, about how many times Lance got to reject him.

"Yeah?" Keith says, unsure whether he's asking or confirming.

"But when we were rescuing Shiro you said-"

"I know I said I didn't, but - I mean - it was just a lot to see him again, I guess. I thought it was obvious to everyone that I was lying."

There's silence for a few minutes.

Keith knows silence. He was born in the quiet of the desert, grew up with only his Dad for company, who found far more solace in staring at the stars than prolonged conversation. He'd lived in homes for a few years, where he was avoided for being a troublemaker, then the Garrison, where he was avoided for being 'a prodigy'.

Really, Lance was one of the few blips of noise on an otherwise quiet life.

So sitting in silence with Hunk doesn't bother Keith, but for some reason he still wants to open up, to explain, to talk. Somehow, it feels like there's something hiding in this conversation, just waiting for Keith to find it.

"How could I have forgotten him?" Keith asks aloud, to no one in particular.

Hunk doesn't answer. He just puts down the spanner he's holding and moves to sit next to Keith.

"I mean you were there," Keith continues, part of him aching to close himself, to not let Hunk see that anything anyone could have said or done three years ago could possibly hurt him, but his anger wins out in the end, "heck, you were there when I gave him the note and he…you know…"

_He saw my feelings and decided he couldn't just reject me, he had to make it as painful as possible_ is right on the tip of Keith's tongue, before he pauses.

He gave Lance nine letters back at the Garrison. Nine letters that were like going through the five stages of grief backwards; starting with acceptance, with a straight-forward offer of his affection, slowing working his way back to angry lies written in blue ink and finally denial. Ending in this mess.

But for the countless times Keith has been plagued by the contents of the letters, this is the first time in years he sits back and considers their packaging.

He gave Lance nine letters back at the Garrison.

Nine letters addressed to Taylor.

"Holy fuck," Keith whispers, because there are some levels of shock that Altean swear words just can't reach, "Lance's name is Lance."

Lance never rejected Keith. Lance was never joking with Keith's heart. Lance was never testing him. Lance was confused. Lance was confused and Keith kept pushing and pushing and eventually confusion turned to anger.

The desperate, hopeful part of Keith whispers that the process could have been helped by jealousy, but Keith isn't quite ready to go there just yet.

Lance was never cruel.

Keith's heart picks up its pace, and for once that's a good thing because Lance never rejected him.

Hunk stops, and turns to Keith with one eyebrow raised.

"Yes?" Hunk says, his tone also implying _"are you ok?"_

Keith can't help the smile that reaches his face any more than he could the devastation the first time Lance rejected one of his letters.

Except for the fact that he didn't.

"Lance. He never read the notes I gave him, because they were addressed to Taylor, right?"

"Right…" Hunk has started looking awkward, and Keith knows his loyalties must be torn. Hunk is, and has always been Lance's friend first, but he's also always been kind to Keith, so he knows he has little to fear from telling him the truth.

"I thought Lance's name was Taylor."

Hunk stares at him for a moment, and seemingly comes to no conclusion.

"Wait." He starts, then stops himself. Then frowns. Then starts again. "What?"

Keith can't help the way his lips pull up.

Lance never rejected him.

There's even the off chance that Lance might actually care about him.

"The letters were for Lance, I just thought his name was Taylor."

There are a multitude of follow up questions Hunk could ask, mostly revolving around _"how could you have fucked up this bad?"_ And " _no seriously, how could you have fucked up this bad??"_ but Hunk doesn't ask them. Instead he slowly grins at Keith.

"You can fix this," Hunk says.

"I can fix this," Keith grins back.

Keith scrambles to his feet, and is just about to turn and race off, but Hunk rests a hand on his arm. Keith looks down to where Hunk is smiling up at him from the floor.

"Good luck."

Hunk pats him on the arm once more, and Keith takes a beat to flash him the purest concept of his smile, before he sprints out of the room.

* * *

 

Part of Keith wants to sprint to wherever Lance is, to sort this out however he can with his words, jumbled and unsure as they usually are whenever they are when he tries to say something actually important. But the rest of him wants to do this right; Lance has always made Keith want to be better, more measured, dependable, thoughtful in his actions. This is the time to show those colours.

No, he doesn't run straight to Lance. Instead he heads to the bridge, and asks Coran for something like paper and a pen.

Altean society has long converted all its knowledge to centralised systems and wireless solutions, but apparently something like calligraphy was even more popular on Altea than it ever was on Earth. Even when it was no longer needed, apparently Alteans still drew pleasure from forming beautiful shapes from paper and ink.

"Are you thinking about taking up a new hobby?" Coran asks, loading Keith's arms with materials that live up to the royalty who occupied the ship.

"Something like that," Keith says, and thanks Coran again before he staggers to his room, burdened by more materials than he'll need for a hundred letters.

He's soon thankful for it, however, as draft after draft become scrunched up balls on his floor. There aren't words meaningful enough to convey what Keith needs to say, or at least none that Keith knows.

How can he build a bridge long and stable enough to cross the chasm he and Lance have created between them? How can he even begin to repair what has been broken?

He almost wishes, for just a moment, that he had thin notebook paper with faint blue lines to keep his writing straight.

Writing his feelings with such high quality materials seems fake somehow, like his thoughts aren't worth the expense. Keith has always been more of a blue biro person than a calligraphy one. Lance makes him want to be more, because Lance deserves more, but some quiet, selfish part of Keith has always hoped that Lance might want him as he is.

The drafts aren't perfect, but they slowly hone into what Keith needs to say,  the bare bones of what he needs to explain.

He outlines the other letters as much as he can remember, although his memories are sketchier than he thought they'd be. He's spent years being haunted by the letters, by childish innocence and embarrassment and pain. But now that he needs them, now that they can actually have some use, he remembers only fragments.

Eventually he calls his efforts sufficient, and wastes another dozen pieces of paper trying to remember how to fold an envelope. 

He writes _Taylor_ on the front in as neat calligraphy as he can manage in thick, glossy black ink.

He considers addressing it to Lance, but that feels off, like his feelings are distinct from before, for a different person. They're not. They just hold a new perspective.

He walks out of his room with a spring in his step, and knocks on Lance's door.

Lance answers, and his eyes widen a little in shock.

"Hey Mullet," he says, "not training I see?"

"Not right now. I have something for you, actually."

Keith hands him the note with a clear head and a hope he can't quite quash down. Lance's features pull into a frown.

"Really?" Lance asks, his voice cracking halfway through. "We're going back to _this_ now?"

He tries to hand the letter back, but Keith holds up his hands and Lance sighs.

Lance's previous dismissals had felt like broken ribs, like a sock in the jaw, like rejection. This one feels like a minor graze eagerly awaiting the coming band-aid.

"I think you might like this one."

Lance scoffs, and turns away from Keith to slump onto his bed.

"I didn't like any of the others," Lance says, "what makes this one so different?

Keith sits down next to Lance and tries not to look too eager. He tries to look gentle and encouraging and everything his childhood never taught him how to be. Everything that Lance's mere presence seems to draw out of him, from a place Keith hadn't even known existed.

"I was hoping you might actually read it."

"What?"

Lance spins around to face Keith, his eyebrows at his hairline. Keith leans forwards and cradles Lance's hands in his own. They're shaking.

"Please Lance."

Lance draws in a shaky breath and he shrugs off Keith's hands, but does so.

He opens the envelope achingly slowly, like he's worried that at any second Keith will lean over and snatch it away. Lance holds the unfolded letter in his hands, and looks at Keith once more before he starts to read.

Keith watches his eyes race down the letter, watches them skate over verbs and Keith's subpar penmanship, watches Lance reach the end of a sentence and then jump right back to the start of it twice, three times. Whether Lance is having trouble believing the words or simply deciphering them is unclear.

_Dear Taylor,_

_You wouldn't believe how much more perspective it gave things once I realised you never actually read any of the letters I gave you. I guess it makes sense, given that your name is Lance._

_Did people ever call you Taylor at the Garrison? Or 'the Taylor'? I can't work out whether the name is something I misheard, or misattributed, or made up. Maybe there's some poor cadet back on Earth named Taylor with a bundle of sappy love notes that you passed onto them. I hope not. I never meant those feelings to be for anyone but you._

_I don't remember the notes perfectly anymore, which is probably for the best, but here's a basic rundown:_

  * _Once I saw you fly the simulator through an overhang approximately 2 inches larger than your ship, and I died._
  * _The way fourteen year old you laughed made fifteen year old me gay. The fact that I am a gay disaster today is the result of your laugh. I hope you're happy._
  * _I told you about the hoverbike I was planning on building.  I offered you several rides, even though it didn't yet exist._
  * _Your singing voice should not be allowed to exist. It gives you too much power over people, me specifically._
  * _I tried inviting you to the café with the good milkshakes, and then when you didn't respond every other shop in town, ending with the hardware store._
  * _One letter contained a poem that I sincerely hope you burned. It will never again be written or spoken aloud because I would combust on the spot._
  * _You stood up to James once when he was bullying one of the younger cadets, and I would have been gone for you in that moment, if I wasn't already_
  * _The last note was short, and angry. I said I didn't like you anymore. I lied._



_You are an amazing person Lance, and the team and I are so lucky to have you. I don't think I could ever say this out loud to you, but fifteen year old Keith would beat up anyone who ever made you doubt yourself, even if that person was me._

_I'm not expecting you to feel the same way about me as I do about you. I'm just thankful that after three years and ten letters, you've finally read one of them._

 

_I signed all the old letters with 'your admirer Keith' but that feels weird now that we actually know each other so let's just go with  
Keith_

_P.S. The poem wasn't even something you could brush off like a limerick.  I googled_ ** _sonnets_** _for you Lance._  
_P.P.S. Not that I remember it, don't bother asking._  
_P.P.P.S. Shiro doesn't remember it either._

 

Lance's eyes continue to skate over the letter, seemingly in all directions. He's reached the bottom at least once, but when he finally lowers the letter to gape at Keith his gaze is locked somewhere near the first line.

"Quiznack" is the first word out of Lance's mouth, which is the opposite of reassuring.

The ones that follow, however, are almost comical for the deadpan delivery of what is clearly pure shock on Lance's part.

"I threw a love note you wrote me at your head."

The memory has drawn several emotions out of Keith over the years: betrayal, rage masking hurt, simmering anger, jealousy, guilt and embarrassment.

This is the first time it elicits laughter.

He can't even begin to try and stop it, and honestly he doesn't want to. His hands fly to settle across his stomach, and he's half sitting, half falling off Lance's bed. He's not really looking at Lance, he's not really looking at anything. Everything falls away except for the dispelling of three years of tension and pain.

It's so much better than the three years of tears.

"Keith," Lance says, leaning over to steady his shoulders, "Keith you don't understand."

Keith's laughter is clearly contagious, because Lance succumbs too, both of them leaning on each other and somehow between them barely managing to avoid over-balancing.

"You don't understand," Lance tries again, still struggling to get the words out but marginally more successful than before, "the boy I had a crush on handed me a love note and I threw it at his head."

Keith eventually manages to compose himself, and he finally meets Lance's eyes.

Lance's face is usually characterised by a cocky, sure smile, but this one spells relief and joy and wonder in equal measure. Lance looks at Keith like he could be an open door back to Earth, back to home and a better life. His face reassures Keith that this is over, that they've reached the end and somehow both won the jackpot.

Lance's face reassures Keith even where his words fall short. They turn Keith's question, which could be unsure and searching, into a light tease.

"Had?" Keith asks, drawing out the single syllable longer than it needs and following it with an errant chuckle.

"You ass," Lance says, but his smile contradicts his tone, "I _have_ a crush on you, are you happy now?"

Keith brushes his hand across Lance's rapidly reddening cheek.

"Yeah," Keith says matter of fact-ly, "I wrote you a love letter Lance. I wrote you ten love letters. Obviously I want you to like me back." He doesn't see any point in  hiding it now. He likes Lance and Lance feels the same. What more is there?

Lance lets out what could most accurately be called a squeak and buries his head into Keith's shoulder.

He takes a few minutes there, and Keith settles his arms around Lance's shoulders, rubbing his back in slow circles. It's comforting, moving his arms in the measured, repetitive motions, and from Lance's slowing breathing the feeling seems to be mutual.

"Just for the record, fourteen year old me would have been completely gone with your laugh too," Lance eventually mumbles into Keith's shoulder, "if he'd ever gotten to hear it."

Keith can't help the quiet laugh that bubbles up his throat, as if summoned by Lance's words. Lance rights himself, and watches Keith, but he doesn't move away.

"Yeah," Lance murmurs, brushing Keith's hair behind his ear as if in a daze, "he definitely would have."

Lance keeps stroking his hair, and Keith can only come up with two words in response.

"Would have?" He asks, leaning in to Lance's touch, running his hand up Lance's free arm and marvelling at the goose-bumps he manages to raise.

"He definitely is," Lance amends, and this time it feels like less of a joke. It feels achingly real.

Lance is already so close, so much closer than he's ever been, so much closer than Keith ever thought he'd have him. But the distance between them evaporates further as Lance leans in, his eyes trained on Keith's lips.

Keith won't let him make the journey alone.

He's never known Lance to do anything at less than the speed of light, but when Lance kisses it's slow, calm. It's not a battle, it's a pleasant conversation. It's not a thunderstorm, it's a gentle drizzle, the kind of weather that can sink into your bones, into the Earth. Lance kisses like the steady, rhythmic rain that can cure a drought.

Keith moves his head to get a better angle, and for once in his life doesn't feel the need to rush.

Lance hums, and cups Keith's cheek with one hand. Then, his fingers move slowly towards Keith's hair, brushing it back behind his ear and threading through the strands.

Lance kisses like they have all the time in the world, and Keith desperately hopes that he's right.

When Lance eventually leans back, Keith doesn't even chase his lips, still hooked on the innate promise that they have time to do this as many times as they want.

For Keith, that number will always be one more.

"Keith, babe, I'll be right back I just need to do something real quick yeah?" Lance says, smiling warmly.

"Yeah sure," Keith says, slightly off-put but so happy that the strangeness doesn't worry him.

Lance leans in and kisses him once more before he leaves, Keith reeling in his wake.

Keith sighs, but he doesn't move to leave, or do much of anything. His muscles feel void of tension like they haven't in years, and he stands and stretches his arms above his head, bending from side to side, reveling in the calm of his mind.

He realises his mistake as soon as he hears Lance shouting Shiro's name from the corridor, his footfalls turned on a dime from an amble to a sprint.

Keith growls and moves to the door. He should have known better than to think that Lance would let something as juicy as an embarrassing love poem go.

He pretends that he minds. He pretends that he doesn't give Lance a five second head start.

* * *

 

By the time Keith runs after Lance he's lost him completely. So it's not as much a chase as it is a semi-enthusiastic jog through the castle's corridors, opening each door as he goes.

He continues to wander aimlessly for a few minutes, before he remembers Lance's objective. He's not really looking for Lance, he's looking for Shiro.

Shiro only ever occupies three rooms in the ship when they're not training or eating together: his room, the bridge and one of the smaller lounge rooms on the main level. Shiro isn't known to wander far. He likes routine, says it reminds him of the Garrison. Keith can't help but think that Shiro probably needs that semblance of control after what he's been through.

It breaks his heart to think about the year Shiro spent with the Galra, but Shiro doesn't want to talk about it, so Keith can only be there for him when he can, and let him use his coping mechanisms in peace.

Shiro's room is empty, and Allura and Coran are on the bridge and say they haven't seen him but as he approaches the living room Shiro likes to nap in he hears familiar voices.

"Lance, I'm sorry but no."

Keith slows to a walk as he rounds the corner, to see Shiro giving Lance a far more serious look than the situation would warrant.

"I haven't said anything about your rivalry because you seem to be able to work together when needed, but you shouldn't dredge up Keith's past to try and get to him. You didn't know him back then so I can't blame you but," Shiro continues, looking over to Keith and giving him a sympathetic smile, "Taylor is off limits."

Lance looks over to Keith too, but his smile is cheerful and a little bit sneaky as he reaches for Keith's hand.

"Shiro," Keith says, entwining his fingers with Lance's, "Lance is Taylor."

Shiro flicks his gaze between them, then to their joined hands.

"Excuse me?"

"I had a big old embarrassing crush on Keith at the Garrison," Lance says, "and Keith had a big old embarrassing crush on me. But I had a stupid nickname, and Keith addressed his love letters to the wrong person."

"Wait, people actually called you Taylor? Why?"

"The tailor, because of how I _thread the needle_ ," Lance leans over Keith, wiggling his eyebrows, and it's just another joke that he can't decipher.

Keith frowns for a moment as he tries but Lance leans closer.

"I'll explain it to you later," Lance promises, right as Shiro wheezes.

"This is," Shiro says, his ribs shaking with silent laughter, "the best gift anyone has ever, ever given me. Thank you Lance."

"You're welcome. Do you reckon I could get that poem now?"

Shiro is beyond speaking, but he tosses Lance a thumbs up before taking a few minutes to compose himself.

Keith grumbles a little, but resigns himself to his fate and nods at Shiro when Shiro looks to him for permission.

"You wrote it for _me_ , Keith," Lance says, voice clouded with mock-offence, "I should really get to hear it."

"Yeah whatever, it's fi-"

"He has a point Keith," Shiro interrupts Keith, nodding in Lance's direction, "you did write it specifically for him."

"I know, I already said it's-"

"Telling me about the poem and them not letting me hear it is just cruel Keith, and honestly I'd expect better from a paladin of -"

"I already said it was fine!" Keith yells, cutting them both off.

Shiro's eyes light up.

"Well, if you insist," he says, and strikes a dramatic pose.

Lance squeezes Keith's hand and smiles at him. Keith rolls his eyes and leans in closer.

"The world!" Shiro starts, throwing his arms out in a dramatic sweep, "tells me," he pauses for four beats too long, before drawing his hands into his chest.

"To smile," he whispers, then throws a hand over his forehead and shifts his volume upward, "I!"

"No. No. Okay just stop!"

"Throw a sco- what are you doing Keith you're interrupting - that's rude."

"That's rude Keith," Lance echoes.

Keith doesn't have to try to muster up a glare.

"Fifteen year old me," Keith says, holding a finger up at each of them in a shushing motion, even as one of hands is still holding Lance's, "spent _two months_ writing this stupid poem in iambic pentameter. And by god if Lance is going to hear you butcher it."

He doesn't overly want Lance to hear the poem at all. But if it has come to that, then it'll come to that on Keith's terms.

"You spent two months on it?" Lance asks, his voice small.

"Well, it sounds like my poetry reciting is a hopeless case," Shiro smiles at Keith and claps him on the shoulder as he turns to leave, "I guess you'll just have to tell him. I'm going to go check on the others."

Lance and Keith are left standing alone in the middle of the room, holding hands.

"You don't really have to tell me if you don't want to," Lance says, "or I can go ask Shiro sometime later so you don't have to hear it."

Keith is almost tempted to take Lance up on that offer, but he's played the whole 'giving Lance information about his feelings and waiting hours for a reaction' game before. He ended up waiting three years for a reply to his letters.

"It's fine," Keith sighs, "but when we get back to Earth I'm going to ask your family for the details about every embarrassing thing you've ever done."

Lance chuckles, and squeezes Keith's hand.

"Oh, they were definitely going to tell you that anyway, my man."

Keith looks up at Lance then, searching his face for a moment, unsure if Lance meant what he said. Lance looks back at him with an easy grin, his expression open and radiating happiness.

"I like the sound of that," Keith says, in reference to Lance's term of endearment.

Lance seems to think he's referring to the entire sentence, because he begins a story about the raccoon Louis had tried to adopt as a toddler.

Keith doesn't move to correct him, instead letting the story sink through him, the light-hearted content and Lance's voice untangling his nerves and untethering his concerns.

As the story progresses Keith tugs Lance towards the couch. They curl up together, far closer than they ever would have let themselves sit before. Keith knows that with a blanket and dimmed lights he'd easily be able to drift off here, encased in Lance's warmth and with his voice acting as a lullaby.

Lance eventually finishes the story and they drift into silence, one of them occasionally squeezing the other's hand.

"Do you still want to hear the poem?" Keith asks, because if it must see the light of day, he wants it to be in a moment exactly like this.

"Only if you're sure you're happy to tell me."

"Yeah, it's fine," Keith says, and this time he smiles at Lance, as a confirmation for his words.

He turns around and leans against Lance's chest, because he's still embarrassed, and doesn't think he can handle saying the words to Lance's face, but Lance simply wraps his arms around Keith and doesn't comment on it.

Keith leans back and listens for Lance's heartbeat. He lets its slow, steady rhythm act as his metronome when he starts to speak.

_"The world tells me to smile I throw a scowl_

_Would not be right to show them what I'm not_

_In all the ways my life has run afoul_

_I thought I was the one that God forgot"_

Keith doesn’t say the words in anything but his voice, slightly rough around the edges and wholly unsuited for poetry. But the words themselves take no effort to remember, as if they've been etched under his skin, waiting for the day they could finally be free.

_"But how can that be true when you exist?_

_The one whose smile shines brighter than the sun_

_I'll ask the stars to teach me tenderness_

_And hope what you deserve I can become"_

Keith hears Lance gasp softly behind him, but he doesn't stop. Partially because he knows once he stops he won't be able to make himself start up again, but mostly because the words have all but developed a life of their own. He barely registers saying them, but they keep falling from his lips.

_"For in your eyes I think I see a life_

_One far more sweet than what has come before_

_Could laugh my way through all my years of strife_

_A thousand times, long as I could be sure_

_One day our love would grow in tender glades_

_Our destinies entwined and tailor-made."_

 

"Holy quiznack."

Lance has one hand raised to cover his mouth. Keith was expecting to see laugh lines, but instead there's water pooling in the corners of his eyes.

"Did you like it?"

Lance scoffs and drags Keith into a kiss.

If Keith had known that this was the reward for letting Lance hear the poem, he never would have hesitated.

"I was expecting," Lance mutters against Keith's lips as they pull away, "some thesaurus-filled description of my eyes shining like a blue ocean sapphire made of blueberries and bluebells and blue crayons. Not actual sentiment."

Keith chuckles and pulls Lance back in.

"Even fifteen year old me knew he could never do justice to your eyes."

Lance groans.

"How are you actually smooth? That's not fair."

Keith doesn't have an answer, so he doesn't give one. Instead he flashes Lance a toothy grin and takes his hands. He runs his fingers over them, turning them this way and that. Lance lets him fiddle with his fingers without complaint, and Keith hopes he understands that Keith only ever tries to be smooth, only ever wants to be smooth for him.

"What did I do with that letter?"

Keith finds Lance's eyes. He searches them for more of an explanation.

All he finds is regret.

"Lance, it doesn't matter now…"

"It matters to me."

Keith brushes his hand across Lance's cheek and wishes more than anything that he could draw a smile.

Then he sighs and takes a moment to compose himself. He knows the answer. He'd worked for two months on the poem, he'd wanted so bad for it to be perfect because it had contained all of his hopes. It has been the first note he'd refused to let Lance give back.

"I don't know." Keith shrugs. The fact that he'd never found out had torn him up a little inside at the time, but he'd never let himself admit it. "It was the one I gave you on Valentine's Day."

Lance sighs, and leans his head on Keith's shoulder. Keith glances him out of the corner of his eye, and he looks despondent, completely out of air. He's staring at the floor with a furrowed brow. Keith wishes it looked like confusion, but instead it feels like bad news.

Keith covers Lance's hands with his own again, and turns his head to leave a lingering kiss on Lance's cheek.

He doesn't mind not knowing, if the alternative is Lance looking like this. But he resigns himself that talking it out will be better in the long term, as much as it will hurt in the present.

Lance watches their hands for a moment, before taking a deep breath.

"I ripped it up," Lance says, and Keith's heart falls a little, not out of anger, but of some sense of the time both of them have lost, "I ripped up all the letters you'd sent, when I found out it was you."

That wasn't the answer Keith was expecting. He wants to ask why, but before he gets the chance Lance continues.

"I just… it was kind of fun at first you know? I just thought it was someone who was trying their best and just had really, really bad luck. It was kind of sweet, seeing how much they could care for someone, even if it wasn't me.

"But when I found out it was you… I… You were like, so much to me back then. And I never felt like I was anything to you. I was just that kid who annoyed you for a couple of minutes each day, and you couldn't even be bothered to tell me to go away - I didn't even register to you."

Keith reaches up a hand to cup Lance's cheek.

"You weren't. You were the highlight of my day," Keith whispers to him, and Lance turns to face him, rests his forehead against Keith's.

"I thought you wanted me to track down and give the notes to Taylor. Like you thought it would be a romantic gesture to pass them on through another person. I thought you valued my time so little that you thought I should spend it doing errands for you. I was so, so jealous. And I didn't want to see you with anyone else. It was selfish…"

"It wasn't," Keith promises, "if I was actually doing that to you - using you like that? That would have been despicable. I would have beat myself up for that."

Lance chuckles wetly at that, before he threads his fingers through Keith's.

"I'm still sorry," he breathes.

"Hey," Keith says softly, pulling back a fraction of an inch, so he can look Lance in the eye, "you have nothing to apologise for."

Lance nods shakily, and Keith presses a kiss to his forehead, then both his eyelids, then his nose, his chin, his cheeks.

By the time Keith makes his way over to Lance's ear, Lance is smiling.

"You should write the poem out for me again next Valentine's day so I can frame it," Lance says.

"I'll write it out for you right now."

"Or you could give it to me next Valentine's day."

Keith pauses for a moment, before he deduces Lance's train of thought.

"You're just saying that so you'll know what I'm getting you and you can get me something better."

"Untrue!" Lance exclaims, too loud for how close they are, but his red cheeks give him away.

Keith just huffs a laugh at him and pulls him closer again.

"Maybe I just want a turn to be the romantic one."

"Mmmm," Keith hums, and then, "I'm gonna write you another poem."

"It's my turn, though," Lance grumbles.

"I'm going to write you two."

"Nooooooo."

"Seven."

"That's so many poems, Keith."

"The first one had a pun on someone else's name. I need to redeem myself."

Keith closes his eyes, and he's so comfortable where he's nestled into Lance's shoulder that he could so easily close his eyes and take a nap, but Lance puts his hands on Keith's shoulders and pushes him away gently.

"Hey no, they called me 'the tailor' at the Garrison. With an 'i', exactly like tailor-made. So really you exceeded your own expectations."

Keith stares at Lance for a long moment. Overwhelmed by Lance's gaze of his face. Overwhelmed by the way his heart is doing the best to beat right out of his chest and into Lance's arms. It's so desperate to be Lance's.

It's a lot like the rest of Keith in that way.

"I'm still going to write you another poem," Keith says, and he knows he could write a hundred poems about the minute gap between Lance's front teeth alone. A hundred more about the curve of his ear. At least a thousand about the freckle that falls just under his left eye.

"Yeah, well I'm going to write you a song for every day since you wrote your first note. And then I'm going to knit you enough blankets and sweaters that you'll never be cold again. And then I'm going to find enough Balmeran crystals that you'll never be without light. And then…"

Keith feels his lips pull up as he watches Lance watching him. He never thought that Lance's attention was something he could hold in his hand, but now he has it in spades.

Lance's declarations keep getting more and more outlandish, until he's swearing that one day he'll travel far enough back in time to bring Keith the first rose ever grown on Earth, and then coat it in the first crystal ever formed so that it will never wither.

Lance pauses, and he brushes a hand across Keith's cheek.

"One day I'm going to grow old with you, Keith," he promises.

"Not if I grow old with you first."

Lance throws his head back and laughs, and it makes Keith sentimental for a time he hasn't yet lived. Makes him feel as though he's remembering a past life, or some sort of alternate universe. Makes him feel as if in every universe, they wind up where they are now.

"I am going to get you the best Valentine's present though."

"Good luck with that."

"You're going to be blown away, Keith."

"Can't wait."

"And you're going to write out that poem for me so that I can win for once."

"You keep on believing that, Lance."

Keith isn't ready to say it out loud yet, but he can't help but think back to his hopes for the poem, his daydream from the first Valentine's day he ever gave Lance a gift.

_We're going to compete over Valentine's day presents every year,_ _until one year one of us brings home a ring._

Lance doesn't seem worried about the future though, because he just grumbles and then cuts himself off by running his fingers through Keith's hair.

Then Lance leans forward and kisses him, and it feels like the start of the rest of their lives.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed some slightly-clueless Keith. The next (and final) part will be uploaded within the next week. 
> 
> I was a little unsure with this one so any feedback would be greatly appreciated :)


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